


The Cocktail of Bones

by GlassSolomon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Anorexia, Before Scott is a Werewolf, Begins before/during seasons 1, Bullied Stiles, Comfort/Angst, Eating Disorders, Fat Stiles in the Beginning, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Please don't read if Eating Disorders are triggering to you, Possibly Triggering, Teen Derek, Teen Stiles, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:29:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassSolomon/pseuds/GlassSolomon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer never used to be a cocktail of laxatives, bones and empty gazes. Summer wasn't always a breath-full of skipped breakfasts and bathroom floors. Summer never used to be starvingstarvingstarving until he couldn't breath anymore.</p>
<p>But, Stiles never used to feel so thin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Goodbye Arizona

**Author's Note:**

> =I could wait around for the dust to still, but I don't believe that it ever will.=

It had begun in the heat of summer, the summer just before high-school started.

In the years previous, summer had been tender; it had been licking double-chocolate-chunk ice cream off of pink fingers, biking down the winding dusty paths until the inevitable happened (and it always did) and one of them wrecked and inhaled tears for an hour while the other distracted with cheap jokes out of the joke-book Scott had found at the thrift store. Summer was falling asleep at Scott's house, drooling all over the Xbox controller Stiles _always_ used. Summer was endless and beautiful and good and---

_\--never before had it been spent all night in a bathroom._

 

Summer never used to be so full of his demons ; Stiles still remembered those gas-station runs, guiltlessly buying 50 cent arizona tea from the local speedway because it tasted so guiltless and so _divine_ on such a warm guiltless _guiltlessguitless_ sticky day, greeting "Charlie" who ran the register with a smile and a quarter in the 'give one take one' cup. 

Unfortunately, like everything  in life does eventually, all the poor eating and the guiltlessness caught up with Stiles. The cans of Arizona ice tea stacked up, double-chocolate-chunk filled the cracks and that sweet little Stallinski belly grew a little extra padding. Pleasantly plump as some might have said.

It was during that time of _transition_ ( the plight word for 'weight gain' )in Stiles life that his dad simply shrugged off his son's change in weight, the adderall had made gaining weight for Stiles tiringly difficult in the past- so a little extra weight made the Sheriff actually rather pleased; and food was a common coping mechanism, the Sherif reasoned. Stiles's mother had died and it wasn't unusual for someone to turn to food for comfort during such a tender time.

 Extra weight or not, the Sherif would not deny Stiles any ounce of comfort he could wring out of life. Even if extra comfort meant  letting his son go back for seconds made him smile a little brighter--- well--- hell be it he'd take that smile every time. 

 

" _Besides."_ Mr. Stilinski had reasoned.

_"He'll grow out of it."_

_Out of it._

_Out of-_

_it._

 

But when the sweetness of the summer ended and _growing out of it_ hadn't quite happened yet, school began once more not waiting for _anyone_ to even out.  So Stiles went to school, not expecting to be met with the bullying that he was indeed met with. 

 

See, being the _fat_ kid in Junior-high meant every kid in the place had the right to remind you of that fact. School was not what Stiles remembered it being. 

Stiles never used to cry in the bathrooms between class, or be shoved against lockers. Nevernevernever.

Stiles's weight had become a poisonous, bleary-eyed demon, one that never ceased to let Stiles remember it was there. _Fatassfatass._ The word _fat_ got thrown around so much it felt like a stale truth by the time 8th grade came closer to an end, strangers called him fat and laughed, people who didn't know anything about Stiles judged him, scurrying around with smiles and nods and 'good-jobs' like the persecution of another ensured high-school status. And, the sad part was- it did for many.

To be honest  Stiles didn't really blame them, _whatever you could do to survive high-school_. Stiles had become desensitized to the three letter word that not only ruled him, but it soon defined him. Fat.

 

_"Fat."_

_"Fat."_

_"Fat."_

_"Oh my god you are so fat."_

 

_I am so fat._

 

Stiles might have eventually surrendered to the poison of that three lettered word sooner if it weren't for Scott, who despite all of the vile words that now branded Stiles like a scarlet letter _still_ ate lunch with his hyper-active friend every day and still smiled with him and still read jokes out of that shitty joke book when it was all too much and Stiles was doing everything he could to choke back tears. Scott knew about the bullying, but for the sake of Stiles's pride he kept silent about it most of the time- unless Scott was around when the bullying happened- then he _always_ stuck up for Stiles. 

The jokes worked and Scott's friendship worked, it all worked for a while. But, Scott couldn't be around all the time-

And everything came crashing down the very last day of junior high.  

 

 

* * *

_Somehow it was a lot worse, worse because Lydia was there and even though she wasn't joining in-_

 

**Hey Stiles.**

**Stiles.**

**Fatass.**

**Fatass. We brought something for you.**

 

_She gave him this look- Lydia just looked at him; this terrible look--- this horribleterribleawful look full of pity._

* * *

 

There was this ringing in Stiles's ears, a ringing that wouldn't seem to stop. Beneath that ringing everything was so quiet; not a sound dared to meet him. Stiles didn't have any will left in the world- not even one to listen. Stiles didn't hear Scott, who asked Stiles if he was alright- "Dude, you look pale-" "Stiles don't listen to them-" He didn't hear the final bell ring as the crowd filtered out of the halls for summer, excitement for high-school on their heels. Stiles didn't hear Scott invite him over to 'hang' later because Stiles had some very important things he knew he had to do.

All he could think about was that three lettered word "F.A.T" 

 

"Fine." Stiles whispered to the silence, his words were so full of determination that they stirred every emotion that lived within him. "Fine." He whispered again, fingers trembling as he walked a different way home. The air tasted thick to Stiles, like he were swallowing water. Yet, still he managed to collect himself enough to riffle through his back-pack and prepare himself. Stiles pulled every dollar he owned out of his wallet, he certsainly did NOT stop there as he searched every little pocket of his backpack and needily snatched every little penny he could find. It was all money he'd been saving to buy a new video game; and it really was all the money to Stiles's name… A solid 30 bucks in his hands.

Stiles journey came to an end fifteen minutes later as he stopped in front of the local Health-and-Food store determined, storming his way inside. 

This place was foreign to Stiles, he'd never even _considered_ going inside until now; so it was safe to say Stiles didn't know what he needed, the place was overwhelming and so he continued his storming all the way up to the counter where the clerk stood with arms crossed and a bored expression plastered across intimidating features.

"Excuse me." Stiles breathed, sounding like he'd already run a marathon.

The man looked down to Stiles and almost immediately his brow folded with concern. Stiles hadn't realized that he'd been-

 

_cryingshakingbreathingohmygodIfeellikeI'mdying._

 

Stiles only felt the determination to change. 

"I need-" Stiles paused and closed his eyes trying to stop his voice from shaking. Stiles knew he needed something- he just didn't have the slightest idea where to begin. After a few moments of desperation and a rather awkward shuffle from the dark haired man in front of him, Stiles simply sighed and piled the wadded $30.00 onto the counter, meeting the eyes of the cashier.  

"Look…" Stiles began. "I have thirty bucks and no idea where to start, I've never done this before-" He paused and cleared his throat. "I've never done this, so just give me whatever I can get for thirty dollars _that will work._ I don't care what it is just give it to me." Stiles hadn't meant to sound so desperate, he hadn't meant to continue crying like that and probably scare the shit out of this man, a man who probably didn't even know where to start.

The cashier was soundless and he still looked rather confused, the man's jaw was slightly agape. 

 

"Here." A voice from directly next to Stiles broke the silence. A dark haired man set a 10.00$ bill on the counter along with Stiles' money. "Get him a couple of the dvds I got last summer-" The man murmurs to the cashier was a gruff one, but commanding as if he were a regular.  After a sigh the man looked down to the money and back to Stiles and even pity belonged somewhere in that glance and suddenly Stiles felt like a child.  

"Okay, right- thanks Derek.” The cashier breathed, shooting a quick smile at the stranger. That single deed had been the kindest act Stiles had seen in a long time. Stiles turned to the dark haired man beside him, mouth slack _"Oh, thank you!"_ he squeaked.The man said nothing, he smiled and closed his eyes, gently nodding his head with acknowledgment.

Then in an instant the cashier was back with a few DVDs. "These DVDs have worked well for a lot of my customers, you're supposed to do them five days a week- so don't forget to do your work-outs, but it's also important not to forget to give yourself a rest." 

Stiles nodded, feeling his throat tighten; but he was finished crying- he'd cried far too much that day.  

As the cashier began cashing out the DVDs the dark haired man who had so generously given him some money set a hand on Stiles's shoulder 

"Look." He started quietly. " I don't know what happened- but whatever it was  please don't get down on yourself; don't lose weight for other people because you will never be happy- lose weight for yourself."

Stiles nodded like a good little boy, like he understood, but he didn't. 

The cashier handed stiles a little bit of change, but Stiles turned and shoved it towards the man who had helped him. The dark haired man shook his head and turned his back to Stiles, walking into one of the many isles. "Keep it." He murmured softly. "Buy yourself something nice." 

After a thousand 'thank-you's and the Health-and-Food store and the dark haired stranger was behind him. Stiles found a Drugstore and scurried inside. He'd heard Lydia talking about taking laxatives over the weekend and was able to fit into her new dress; if it worked for her- then it would work for Stiles. 

_Buy yourself something nice._

 

Stiles indeed had. 

 

* * *

 

The first month had been a long and grueling month; every day began early- right after his father went to work so Stiles could do the work out DVD without his father seeing. Breakfast was half of an egg-white.

_Then three laxatives._

Then his father came home for lunch, and Stiles would laugh and smile and- _hah I am so happy, such a good and loving, perfect, beautiful  son everythingisalrightIpromise'_ he'd shove as much of the food in his pockets that he could without his father noticing. 

_Then four laxatives._

Then Stiles did the DVD again, this time in front of his father, who was surprised to see his son working so hard all of a sudden , but congratulated him for working so hard. 

_"Trying to impress some girl?"_ His father would laugh.

 

Haha. 

 

Then dinner was spent at " _Scott's house"._ Or at least that's what Stiles told his father. Then when Stiles got to Scott's house he'd tell Scott and his mother that "He'd eaten at home."

_Then three laxatives._

Then in the evenings when the laxatives took hold and the moon trembled in the sky- he'd lay on the tiles of the bathroom floor and cry because he had never felt so much pain in his entire life. Stiles would press a towel over his face so the groans wouldn't wake his father. Never before had summer been clammy fingers and the sting of bathroom tiles underneath his fingertips, never before was it sleepless; spent in long winds of whispery breaths that felt like they might be his last.

Stiles merely lay there and  watch his fingers tremble for hours, 

I'm going to be thin.

 

Thin.

 

Thin.

 

This will be worth it. 

 

* * *

 

You can get a taste for lonliness; or perhaps it isn't lonliness that you get a taste or- perhaps its emptiness. Yes. That's it. You can become addicted to the way it makes your belly feel, the way it makes your heart feel- the lack of nothing proves that there is nothing to over-think, nothing to underthink nothing to cry over, no hurricanes to run from or home-work to stress over. Nothing Nothing Nothing. Oh yes, one can become addicted.

Two months of this strict routine. Two months of hell; a hell that changed him- not only physically but mentally; he'd seen his own trenches, his own wars and he'd lost his own battles- but it was okay because he was winning now.

He'd dropped twenty-two pounds, after all. Twenty-two points, twenty-two big ones, twenty two less problems to deal with. When one description felt stale in his mouth he'd simply adopt another and thrive off of the high until another pound was lost and another and another. Stiles was addicted. 

"Twenty-two" Stiles breathed to himself, pale cheeks puffing with pride. The words still stung his lips as they left, chapping them like the pain winter brought; cold and hard-  it was so real.

The first person to really say anything about the weight-loss was Scott's mother. The nurse was busy, so despite being over at Scott's house constantly; she saw him three times every two weeks. 

"Stiles." She'd stated one warm evening; those fingers of hers wrapped around big blue plates. she'd perked up with the teen's name when he'd graciously declined the offer of cheese enchiladas. Everybody loves cheese enchiladas. Stiles _loved_ cheese enchiladas. And still, the offer was declined with a click of his teeth.  "You look really good, how much weight have you lost?" 

The compliment had rung in his ears like a single crisp note; like a song. 

Twenty-two twenty-two twenty-twotwentytwotwentyfuckingtwo. Twenty-two pounds of fat, twenty-two blocks of mass, twenty two twenty two. twenty two twenty fucking two oh my god twenty two. He answered her a thousand times over in his head, turning that word over and over until it burrowed into his DNA. TWENTY-TWO MRS. MCCALL. TWENTY-TWO.

Twenty-two. 

"Not sure-" _twentytwo_ Stiles chirped, that goof-ball smile stretched across his face. Stilel’s brain felt like it had begun to boil, what a strange feeling that was.

_Go on, play the cards Stiles, play your everythingsgreat cards._   

"Puberty couldn't have come any later- huh." Scott's mother smiled with the answer, tossing it around like a motivational cheer. 

Stiles smiled like a boy who hadn't seen the twenty-two trenches, or battled twenty-two enemies or screamed through nickel stained lips aling with the lost souls; the ones who screamed their nights into dirty towels because--- his stomach oh god his stomach oh god take it awayithurtssobad. The screams. Oh God they're loud. 

"Well, Scott tells me you've been working out too-" Her voice draws the screams away, and for some reason her confession makes Stiles feels betrayed. Stiles knew he shouldn't have felt something so silly, it was normal; this was all normal- he was normal, this is what normal people talked about, she'd complimented him.

 

_Fuck you Scott._

 

"Yeah, I found some work-out DVDs and I do them every once in a while." A pause to smile and pretend like he'd have to dig in the back of his mind for this information- trivial triviatrivialtrival stuff "I've been slacking behind lately, haha- that's summer I suppose." His muscles stung and ached, but his bones laughed along with him- he was funny, so funny _a joker hahahahhaaa…_  

Looking impressed, Scott's mom winked. "Well, it doesn't hurt to indulge every once in a while. It's healthy, especially for a boy who's working so hard." Mrs. McCall placed a plate in front of Stiles and smiled again.

 

_Wow, ok._

_Stay calm._

 

Stiles tried so hard to smile back. He could feel his brain fire the signals to do so, but no smile came.  The lump in his throat grew ten-fold. It was tumorous, the lump. It trembled with a soft "Thank you" the only manageable reply he could ever hope to squeak out as the two carried on normally; oh so painfully, how could they even do it? Stiles watched Scott shove a spoonful into his mouth like a person watching a horror film. Cheese dribbled down his chin as Scott nonchalantly balanced on the back two legs of his chair. 

"Stiles, _hurry_ -" Scott whined. "We need to get back to our game." He nodded to the paused Xbox, eyes flashing. 

_Some things never changed._

Stiles felt panic rise in his chest, it was unlike any fear he'd ever experienced. It was like he was back at school; back on that very last day of school.

 

* * *

 

**Get on the scale fatass.**

 

**Yes you will.**

 

**Get on.**

 

_Everyone's laughing_

 

* * *

 

The only thing Stiles could think to do was scream until he lost consciousness; he'd worked so hard all summer- and was about to be undone by an enchilada. 

 

No.

 

Nonono.

 

NO. 

 

_Think Stiles think. How can you get rid of this?_

 

The brunet's  fingers trembled as he pressed the fork to the meal he'd been faced with. There was only one way Stiles could think to be rid of his meal, a way he'd never dreamed of until now; but there was a way.

"This is really really good Mrs. McCall!" Stiles feels sick, lips stained with sauces. 

It _was_ really really good. 

 

Thank you Stiles!

So good so good.

I'm glad you like it Stiles!

So delicious yumm.

I'll grab you another one.

Oh nonono I'm alright Mrs. McCall

I'm alright.

I'm alright.

Wow you finished that fast.

Was really good.

Wow.

Thank you. 

It was good. Stiles had to get rid of it.

 

"Let's go Stiles!" Scott smiled, hopping onto the couch where his spot waited, and Stiles was next to his.

"Hang on! Lemme use the restroom first!" Stiles managed to yip, attempting to sound normal. To his avail it came out as a hysterical bark, one that made his body tremble with every word like he'd just had some sort of strange episode. Not waiting to look at Scott or his mother, Stiles ventured up the stairs and closed the bathroom door. 

"Come on come on come on." He wheezed, turning the faucet on, _God why couldn't he stop his fingers shaking?_ "Come on Stiles you can do this." the young boy's breath fogged up the glass as he gripped the sides of the sink, he stared at himself for a total of two seconds before he had the will to do what he needed to do.

Not entirely sure how to begin, he leaned down in front of the toilet and shoved a finger gingerly down his throat, he tried he tried he tried. Stiles really did try. The teen understood the concept of shoving a finger down his throat, and he certainly gagged a few times; but nothing came out. Nothing at all.

Ten minutes had passed and his eyes were red and teary, his eyes felt like they were bulging out of his head.

Fifteen minutes and he had rid himself of mucus and mucus alone. 

Twenty minutes and he saw stars, wow oh my god wow- this wasn't working.

Twenty two minutes and his fingers stung a bright painful red, his teeth and his bile had stained his knuckles with little nips and red cuts. Stiles wasn't trying anymore, he couldn't- he felt strange. 

"Stiles?" 

Stiles hadn't realized it had been so long, how long had he been in the bathroom? Five minutes? Three hours?

"Stiles? You okay man?" 

Scott's voice made Stile's groan, slowly finding his way onto his knees, he breathed heavily and jumped to his feet to flush the toilet. "M-" he'd opened his mouth to speak, but only a tiny croak released itself.  Oh God he'd hurt himself "M-fine!" He nervously wheezed through to the other side of the door. No more than a few seconds after the words left his mouth he felt weak. With a tiny "Oh!" He fell onto his knees, making a bit of a _thud._

"Stiles?" Scott's mother's voice had peaked, and it was thick with concern.

From his spot in the floor Stiles suddenly felt trapped. There was no doubt about the fact that he looked like a mess, he was a hysterical mess; plain and simple.

_Think Stiles think._ He knew he needed to lie, he needed to talk his way out of this. God. nobody said dieting was going to be this hard; why hadn't the people at the Health and Food place told him about this? About the temptations? About what do to when you can't get rid of the food? Did a handsome stranger need to buy him DVDs for that too?

Worthless. 

"Uhm." He shifted nervously. "I-" Stiles cleared his throat. “I don’t think the Enchilladas are sitting well wi-“ A pause to clear his throat. “With me, Mrs.Mcall—“ His voice cracked and he certainly seemed like death warmed over. 

“Oh, no! I’m sorry Stiles, I didn’t realize; it’s just that you’ve had them In the past. I’ll bring you some water… Would you like me to call your father?” 

**NO.**  

“No! I mean, don’t worry I’ll call him, really don’t worry about it.”

Scott’s mother shifted a bit, but then uttered a soft “Alright-“ finding her way downstairs to get Stiles some water.

Scott nervously waited by the door, crossing his arms. “That’s the worst man, hopefully your pops doesn’t think we tried poisoning you or anything-“ His voice drawled on.  

Stiles laughed quickly from the other side, running the tap and splashing water on his face. 

“Don’t worry man; I’ll just tell him I got sick-“ 

_Don’t worry._

_  
_Stiles never did tell his father about that night.

 

* * *

 

The final month crawled on slowly. 

After the Enchilada incident, Stiles was able to refuse the food Scott’s mother offered him. It was a scenario that played in his favor because she believed he refused her food because he was afraid it would make him sick again.

She felt badly, but at least it worked. 

The workouts slowly became easier, Stiles had lost 28 pounds by the middle of the month- _only twenty eight._  

And even though it was progress, the looming possibility of having to start school _still extremely overweight_ haunted him. The notion whispered to him even when he smiled and let himself enjoy trivial things. It was always there. Just as the dirt towels and screams and nickled lips were there,

Stiles stopped eating breakfast, and then he only ate lunch when he had to eat in front of his father- he’d never mastered the art of purging himself of the food by throwing it up. Instead he would exercise more; he sweated until he bled and bled until he sweated, a grueling process. 

One that earned him 37 pounds lost in three and a half months.  

The first day of school was upon him, and even though he was physically different and everyone who saw him told him he looked good… He didn’t feel good. Stiles felt just as shitty as he had at the start three and a half months ago- only this time he was smaller. 

“See ya dad.” Stiles murmured his goodbye, waving to his proud father as he slid out of the car and pulled up his coat collar. What a good boy he was. A good good boy. Good boy, healthy boy, good Stiles good.  

He would soon see if 32 trenches, battles, screams, tears,  had been worth the effort- good boy. 

With a breath held in his chest he walked up the stairs that led to school. 

 

~

 

 


	2. 100

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( Prepare for lots of time skipping this chapter, setting up for a set time for the next chapters to come. Forgive me for the delay- but plan on more frequent updates. ))
> 
> Oh no no no. Don't rescue me. I like the salt-water sting.

_What if all they see is who I used to be?_

Every breath is a tremble multiplied into his bones, reverberating and refracting like feeble branches in a storm. _Stop shaking, stop shaking stop shaking Stiles._

Five minutes into the first day of school and Stiles found himself locked in a bathroom stall. Not even a moment passed upon stepping foot into the school and he’d been washed over with an overwhelming sensation of anxiety; suddenly it felt as though all eyes were on him and that had been so crippling that the bathroom stall’s siren call was more comfortable than a euphoric return to his darling dearest friends.

Stiles had found a momentary sense of peace as stared at the wooden door in front of him, it had been so mercilessly over-taken with graffiti and obscenities that he couldn’t even tell what shade the wood once had been. Black sharpies bled into each and every little pathway, staining anonymous grainy promises into the aged wood -God, this school needed to use it’s budget to fix this bathroom. Nobody even made wooden bathroom doors anymore-

Stiles pressed his fingernail to the first word that caught his attention _“Fuck!”_ and then traced it down to meet song lyrics _‘Is that Paramore?’_ he wondered idly, imploring the source, then below the lyrics was the name of a girl with a giant ‘x’ written through it.

How funny, how utterly sad and ironic was it that school was one of the roughest battles they would ever fight and yet the only history of it would remain in the grained history of wooden bathroom doors due to be replaced once the school got a budget to do so, the very idea overwhelmed Stiles to the point of reaching into his pocket and taking out his own sharpie. 

Exhaling shakily as though defusing a bomb, Stiles carefully wrote a number on the door— his own little snippet of history to bleed into the grains that held woes of those come to pass; perhaps he would live in eternal limbo within the hymns of his brothers and sisters. _“100”_

“God.” Stiles half laughed at himself, what a dark place it was where his mind had suddenly mozied off to, filling with thoughts far too deep for the first day of school, plus limbo wasn’t likely to keep Stiles from being late on the first day of class. _Shit._

Flushing the toilet, Stiles ran to the sink and ran water over his still trembling hands, splashing some water onto his face before inhaling a quick breath for courage and pushing his way out the door, off to war wether he liked it or not.

Nobody was in the halls, not even the usual late-bodies lingered in the usual late-body spots and this made Stiles curse his ability for being so terribly late in the worst of situations. 

Stiles reached the door to home-room in record time and slipped through the door gasping as though he’d just run a marathon. Stiles had entered just as attendance was being called in a monotonous voice which seemed far too dull and disenchanted for the very first few moments of school. 

“Late on the first day, what a run this is going to be-“ Coach Finnstock, it had to be coach Finnstock. 

The class is gawking, of course they are- it’s a class full of teenagers who literally have nothing else to look at. Stiles eyes meet Scott’s eyes across the room, and Scott’s nose is scrunched up with a smile that almost makes Stiles feel better. Almost.

“Ahha, yeah my bad coach won’t happen again, you know you look absolutely ravishing today- something new with-“ Stiles tries a hand at saving himself.

“Good lord, I only know one person who talks that fast- but surely this can’t be Stilisnki standing before me?” Coach interrupts Stiles, eyes having widened the moment Stiles had begun to speak- Stiles own nature giving way to his identity. 

A few classmates release exhales of breath as though something has surprised them as well, the notion is so foreign to Stiles that his hands start shaking again- he doesn’t like the attention because he’s never been exposed to positive attention, the attention is grating on his fried nerves— _What are they looking at? Why are they acting so surprised?_ Stiles turned to look behind him, wondering if perhaps he was missing something. _Oh god. Oh god. Was it him? Did they still remember? Did they still think he was fat?_

“Christ, Stilinski I didn’t even recognize you, where the hell did the rest of you go? Well, whatever- go sit down.”

Stiles didn’t find it within himself to utter a thanks, he merely floated to his seat. Stiles neck felt hot and it’s a wonder his system doesn’t catch fire when dozens of eyes continue to follow him to his seat. Stiles tries not to notice the whispers that are exchanged, friends leaning in to each other, cupping hands over ears, lips spewing secrets. _God, don’t they know I can see them?_

“Okay okay calm down everyone come on, eyes back up here-“ The coach claps his hands together and for the first time Stiles is thankful for Finnstock’s interjections, because everyone releases their gazes from Stiles and finally he can breath again.

Scott’s still smiling and it’s so big and bright and full of… well… _Scott_ that Stiles can still see it out of the corner of his eye even past the cloudy embarrassment of what had just taken place. “Everyone’s freaking out ‘cause you look so good.” Scott ‘whispered’ (which, Scott’s whispers were usually louder than a normal person’s definition of whispering ) “Good way to start the year, haha.”

“Mccall.” Finnstock’s aggravation finds Scott, but Stiles’ beaming friend simply presses his teeth together and shrugs in his own sort of apology. It flies with the coach and the usual beginning of school spell begins.

Stiles doesn’t hear a word of it.

——

Three periods pass and everyone who knows Stiles gawks when he passes by. A few people stop to mention how well he looks, or to ask him the obvious _Oh my god did you lose weight?_ It’s a question that Stiles didn’t think could pass _Did you cut your hair?_ In levels of most irritatingly obvious.

“Stiles!? Holy crap I almost didn’t even recognize you.” Danny comments, patting Stiles shoulder as he passes Stilinski in the hall. “Lookin good-“ Danny added on as he left.

By the time lunch period had rolled around Stiles was floating, he’d never felt such positivity from his peers… The comments he was getting made his heart feel warm and wonderful in his chest, like all those nights he’d spent crying into the cracks of the bathroom floor _not too loud or you’ll wake up dad_ had made a difference the pukingcryingstarving worked.

 “People keep asking me who the new student I was hanging out with this morning is— when I tell them it’s you they freak out, I guess seeing you is not as weird to me because we hung out so much over the summer.” Scott grins, shutting his locker.

“I didn’t even know this many people knew my name.” Stiles admits, still beaming- he may as well have been shining now.

“Yeah yeah, whatever!” Scott playfully shoved Stiles. “I’m starved- let’s get some pizza.”

_Click._

The switch in Stiles brain is flipped and the world goes into slow-motion.

Stiles doesn’t even need to slip out his phone to check his ‘My Fitness Pal’ App. He knows what beckoning monsters lay within school lunch room pizza. _Oh my God please God, please no._

**One piece of pizza: 332 Calories per serving, estimated 12 grams of fat.**

 Stiles is already about to shit down, his mind is reeling like an overheated computer and eventually his mind pulls intelligible data from head.

Stiles reasoned that he is left with three options- 

One: Not eat, raising more questions from his already suspicious friend Scott. Stiles had to be careful when pulling that card.

Two: Chew and spit into a napkin, tear chunks off and shove them into his pocket- scrunch his nose and mention how disgusting the school’s pizzas are

Three: Eat. And try to purge again. Shit that never fucking worked he was terrible at throwing up.

Stiles’s mind is racing and his hands are trembling, he feels as though the walls are crumbling around him and he can’t hear Scott calling his name beside him- how could a piece of pizza bring down the mighty fortress he’d built in his mind; how could the prospect of eating scare him so much? Stiles had hundreds more school lunches on the horizon to deal with that year alone, he was going to have to-

“You look well!” A single voice peaks, a voice he knows so well, like a sweet angel who took his hand and guided him from the mental hell that had trapped him only moments earlier. It was Lydia. She hadn’t even mentioned Stiles by name, and there was no reason to believe she was even talking to _him,_ but it took his breath away.

“Oh! I, uh thanks you look-” Stiles called after, though she’d long since disappeared around the corner “good too-“ His voice drawled on and he turned to meet the twinkling eyes of his best friend.

“Shut it-“ Stiles scrunched his nose at Scott. “Let’s get some freakin pizza I’m starved too.”

It was Lydia who’d prompted his mood to be risen to ultimate heights.

Stiles was floating again, and he decided he was going to let himself have that slice of pizza. 

 

Option four: Stiles was simply going to eat it and enjoy it. 

 

* * *

  

Freshman year flew by, it was a busy year, but Stiles liked the notion of keeping busy. Scott and him had resumed lacrosse team practice- adding the vigorous routines that varsity lacrosse required -though they sat on the bench every game- practice was s a lot of work sometimes, but it was enough to calm the screaming panic that sometimes bubbled up in Stiles’ brain when he didn’t do his exercise DVDs as much as he felt he should have. 

The positive feedback on his weight-loss had momentarily triggered a sort of limbo within the disordered behavior he’d adopted; he even stopped buying laxatives; justifying it with needing to sleep at night in order to get better grades. 

The great sense of urgency that had once prompted him to lose weight so quickly and so feverishly had died down a bit, though there was still a ghost of a voice in his head that made him choose diet sodas and ceaser salads at lunch, it didn’t scream at him when he had an occasional slice pizza at Scott’s house after school. Halting the addictive laxative abuse had prompted Stiles to gain around five pounds, though it was an invisible five pounds on his body it still felt like he’d been stabbed in the throat. Stiles still refrained from their draw and even though he avoided mirrors whenever he could- the lack of gaining weight let him sleep guiltlessly at night- prompting the terrible disordered behavior to fall back, deep within the thresholds of his mind to be repressed like many of the issues he tackled.

Any interactions with Lydia seemed to prove void and after a while Stiles even doubted the fact that Lydia knew his name- a fact he was both thankful and spiteful for. At least if she didn’t remember him she wouldn’t remember what happened the summer 

 

* * *

  

Sophomore year came and began well.

Stiles evaded any and all encounters with bullies in all of his current high school career which let him live without significant amounts of poisonous thoughts.

 Stiles had settled into his own little _‘class-clown’_ act, one that let him laugh in the face of uncertainty- or at the very least in the face of awkward high-school happenings.

Stiles idolized the concept of getting better at lacrosse, and found the smallest amounts of peace in his goal. Stiles practiced and practiced, he loved practice with his team and he loved that he gave his father something to be proud of, but Stiles couldn’t seem to get any playing time. 

 _“You’ll get more as an upperclassmen don’t worry!”_ His dad had said once. _Yeah._  

Having Scott by his side had grown to be a force that helped Stiles to deal with his disappointments and Stiles was so thankful for that influence in his life- even if Scott probably had no idea of this impact.

Stiles had continued to find mental peace and success in his sense of ‘limbo’ up until the middle of Sophomore year, just after Scott was bit and this new world and it’s new problems suddenly crashed down on them. 

_Werewolf._

They were standing outside, sorting through the mess when suddenly like a ghost- a familiar face appeared.

Stiles gasped at first, hand quickly touching Scott’s shoulder out of instinct as he stared aback into the piercing eyes of the man who’d suddenly seemed to appear out of no-where.

“What are you doing here?” The man spat towards them, features so dark and so piercing they were a contrast to the environment around them.

Suddenly it all clicked together, like pieces of a puzzle, or scattered clues from within a mystery novel. That time two years ago- in the fitness store- the guy who’d helped Stiles was _Derek Hale_ , the same angry dark featured tyrant of a person who now stood before them. It hadn’t clicked to Stiles before, because of the state he’d been in that time.

Stiles pressed his lips together in a straight line and took a single defensive step backwards. Suddenly he was so very aware of the beating erratic rhythm of his heart, the thudding that reverberated off of every bone in his body- it created a sense of guilt inside of him, and Stiles couldn’t quite decide why Derek standing there now made him feel like he’d committed a crime. 

Stiles wistfully wondered if there was even a slight chance that Derek would recognize him- logically it wouldn’t have made sense… Such a miraculously kind act had stuck out to Stiles so much that day long ago, but how could something like that stick out to someone like Derek? 

God. Derek Fucking Hale. of course, how hadn’t Stiles seen it?

Suddenly Stiles realized he’d been tuning out what was being said, and standing there slack jawed was not an intelligible thing to be doing. 

Derek’s exchange with Scott ended with some sort of angry look slew about his features as he tossed Scott’s inhaler to him, threatening eyes sliding from Scott’s face to Stiles, meeting Stiles’ eyes.

Stiles stared back at Derek, preparing all sorts of baseless apologies.

And then suddenly Derek turned his back and walked away.

 

No. There was no way Derek remembered Stiles. 

——

As Scott began to blossom in his new supernaturally given abilities and the romantic spark between him and Allison lit flame, Stiles began to realize for the first time in his life what the effects of planting one-self and ones stability in other people brought.

 For so long Stiles had reasoned with things like: _Well, Scott isn’t getting to play lacrosse either, so it’s alright ,_ or _Scott doesn’t have a girlfriend either so it’s ok, Scott didn’t get an ‘A’ either so it’s ok, it’s okay it’s okayitsokayit’sokay._

It was a dangerous habit he’d picked up, because when Stiles didn’t have Scott in common with his personal defeats he wasn’t prepared to cope, he wasn’t prepared to feel the deep familiar ache of _NOTFUCKINGGOODENOUGH_ deep inside of his belly. While these feelings were distractible, they would come back eventually.

Stiles didn’t blame Scott for anything though, in fact he was ecstatic for Scott’s changes- it was going to be good for Scott, and Stiles was determined to stand by Scott through all of this; just as Scott had always stood by Stiles when he’d needed it the most… God, Stiles knew he might have not survived this long without the friendship of Scott.

 It was simply a matter of an ill-tuned ability to cope healthily, and a bad way to put off his issues, setting them up to crash down on Stiles all at once. 

But, with all mighty chain-reactions, Stiles had yet to experience the catalyst that would set him off. Stiles had slowly collected and swallowed a number of these reactive thoughts and feelings as he’d mozied on through school, but it wasn’t until the night of Scott’s first full-moon that he was truly pushed off the deep end.

“Everything in my life is perfect, why are you trying to ruin it!?” Scott’s voice is a dagger in Stiles’s stomach and the betrayal and the fear bubbles up into Stiles’s throat only allowing him to produce a single-

_“-I’m trying to help.”_

Scott was pissed, understandably. Certainly he hadn’t asked for any of this, but Stiles wanted to protect them all, he wanted to protect his best friend. 

The argument continued.

“-Alright, you gotta cancel this date-“ Stiles continued on “I’m canceling the date f-“

 _“No!_ Give it to me!” In a flash Scott had balled up Stiles’s shirt and slammed his back against the wall, Scott’s free fist was raised up, ready to bruise Stiles’s flesh in an instant. “You’re a fuck-up and you’re just trying to make me feel bad because for once I’m not a fuck-up too!” Scott’s growl reverberates off of the walls- and Stiles can see that Scott regrets saying it the moment it leaves his lips.

The only sound to be heard was heavy breathing and the source was both of them. Stiles’s heart thundered in his chest as his own inability wore thick on his shoulders. Stiles was so tired of it all.

Scott had uttered an apology and left the room, but Stiles stood there soundlessly for hours. 

 --

That evening at the party, Stiles was surrounded by tipsy strangers. In many ways Stiles didn’t even fully understand why he’d chosen to go to the party that night, part of him didn’t even remember getting ready- and this disassociation scared him above all else. Whatever kept him there, probably half because he wanted to see Lydia and half probably because he still felt the duty to watch out for Scott despite what had been exchanged earlier.

Stiles eyes raise and they are met with the sight of Lydia, arms wrapped around a man in an embrace Stiles suddenly knew he would never experience. 

_Fat._

That’s when the ghost of the word finally resurfaces, awoken from the murky depths of Stiles’s mind like an ancient sea-monster. 

_You are fat and weak and this is why your life is falling to shit._

Stiles takes a step backwards and a soft grunt removes itself from his throat when he hits someone much taller and much broader than himself.

Stiles is breathing so heavily when he turns around that he can’t even choke out an “I’m sorry.” Like the neurons in his brain were firing, prompting him to. Instead, one of his open-palmed hands outstretches as though to pardon himself.

_And of fucking course-_

Of fucking course it’s Derek who he’s run into, it’s Derek. It’s always Derek when his mind is exploding with the serpent whispers of _FATASS. IMPERFECT. WEAK. DISAPPOINTMENT. IT HAD TO BE **DEREK FUCKING HALE.**_

Derek looks stern, but Stiles had reasoned that this was his neutral face, which could only be described as a constantly shaded and angry intimidating force.

Stiles is in a state now, his breathing is fast and he can’t hear anything except the thud of his heart in his chest. 

Suddenly Derek reaches out and places a hand on Stiles’s shoulder, this makes Stiles panic even more until Derek leans down and looked him in the eyes; there is no longer anger, but concern drawn across his features.

“Alright, kid. You need to calm down and breath, I'm not going to hurt you.” Derek’s voice is just pointed enough to get through to Stiles. “You need to sit down and take some deep breathes, okay? Your heart is racing.” Derek asks it like a question, but proves it to be rhetorical in nature as he forcefully guides Stiles to one of the nearby metal fold chairs.

“Calm down.” Derek repeats, getting down on a knee so he's eye-level with Stiles. 

“Stiles.” 

“What?” Derek prompted, looking back up now that Stiles was speaking. 

“My name is Stiles.” 

Derek nods, but doesn't respond. Instead the man stands back to his feet, and Stiles intends to apologize but, Derek is already gone by the time Stiles had found his breath again.

 

* * *

  

Stiles stayed home the next day and didn’t go to school for two days, he’d been able to convince his dad that he was sick and Stiles had laid in bed for those two days, not moving, not sleeping, not thinking, not eating a thing. 

When his dad insisted that he go to school, Stiles obeyed.

“Where have you been? I was worried.” Scott leaned next to Stiles’s locker that day.

“Ahh, yeah- I wasn’t feeling too good.” Stiles smiled at his friend, and Scott crossed his arms and smiled. “Well I’m glad you’re back.” 

“Yeah.” Stiles smiled, and even his own lips felt stale.

The two made their way down to the lunch-room as Scott caught Stiles up on the happenings and the drama, informing Stiles of all the things he’d learned about the Argents and about the Hales and about himself. Scott got in line to buy his food, and turned as though to wait for Stiles to join.

“Ah, actually I still don’t feel so well- I just brought some coffee to drink.” Stiles held up the silver thermos that he’d brought with him.

**_Black coffee. Four calories._ **

“Alright! I’ll explain the rest, go get us a seat!”

Stiles smiled back at his friend and walked to where the usual seat awaited him. 

Coffee and air was all Stiles needed. Then he would be on the way to happiness. In his mind, Stiles remembered that number he’d written on the bathroom door the first day of school Freshman year. _“100.”_

 

_100\. 100. 100. 100. 100. 100. One-Hundred Pounds. _

 

Even though Stiles knew that he would die trying to reach that number. That was still the perfect number in his mind, and he would try to reach it no matter what. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Bubblegum tallies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And darling don't  
> Don't you start to scream  
> It doesn't mean anything  
> It's just make believe

As the days began to unfold in the agenda of chewed number two pencils, bubblegum wads pressed like tallies beneath desks and in the constant stream of whispered stories between bathroom stalls, legends and myths of different sexual encounters between the chosen prepubescent couple of the day. 

 

_Did you hear?_

 

_I heard that Candace got an abortion._

 

_Did you hear?_

 

_Michael cheated on Jessica at Jackson’s party last weekend._

Every one of those bubble-gum tallied days Stiles would sit at lunch with his little stainless steel coffee canister, one that he’d nabbed from his dad’s cupboard. The brunet boy would run his boney fingers along the grain of the canister while Scott and him talked about school, about the supernatural, about Allison. Sometimes even about Derek, and these mentions were always the ones that urged Stiles toperk up in his seat. Derek was interesting to him, any time Derek’s name came up all he could see in his mind’s eye were those piercing blue eyes and the urgency in his voice when he’d happened upon Stiles at the party. When he’d cut Derek’s arm for him so that he could heal after being effected by the wolf’s bane- every wise-crack, every touch- 

-When he’d happened upon Stiles at the Fittness store. 

Scott usually always got something greasy and delicious, and the smell used to make Stile’s stomach cramp and moan with desire- but he was better than shitty cafeteria pizza; he was superior- he was going to be thin. 

Stiles hated it when Scott commented on his not eating. ‘Still not feeling well, Stiles?” ‘You on a hunger strike or something?’ ‘You on a new diet?’ Scott never directly asked Stiles why he wasn’t eating lunch anymore, and Stiles appreciated that fact- perhaps it was because Scott wasn’t much prepared emotionally to handle Stiles problem, or maybe he didn’t really comprehend how little Stiles really ate. Stiles was going to depend on the excuse of ‘Cafeteria food not sitting well with his stomach anymore.’ as well as other distractor techniques— his life was one giant lie after another stacked together like a strong brick foundation he’d created and foreseen to each and every little detail himself.

Stiles’ world had become an ironic bundle, his life was ruled by routine that he desperately needed to make look like it wasn’t routine, he would make eggs in the morning and grasp handfuls of the golden fluff to flush down the toilet so his father thought he was eating breakfast. Then Stiles would tell him that he was eating at Scott’s house for dinner, and then he’d tell Scott he’d already eaten just like he’d done that summer of his awakening. 

 

It was always worse at night.

 

In the evenings his stomach felt like a shriveled cancerous crumple; one that sent his tired brain poisonous dreams of food, coloring the dark with bursts of painful electric shocks. The hunger fevered him, it exhausted him-and somehow it was always at its worst in the evening. But, like a good boy—Stiles was always prepared, he combatted the hunger pains through aerobics, through crunches and through bendy straws that delivered zero calorie: _coffee, diet coke, tea, water, sobe, what the fuck ever justgetitintomyfuckingstomach_ like heroin into his dusty veins, he figured he could fool his veins into thinking diet soda was blood- at least for a little while.

It’s a long a dreadful process, the road to thigh-gaps and a mouth full of model status rotted golden teeth. It’s glamor-less to not get any sleep because you’re up all night cramping up and shitting your guts out. It’s not emotionally easing to feel a part of your immortal soul drop from heart with each and every lie you tell whilst looking into your father’s eyes-

It’s fucking difficult, and it’s haunting.

But it’s working.

Stiles starts to shrink, starving is fast and effective. The small rewards along his difficult path are what fuel the new bounce in his step over what calories once served for him, he has to stab the belt through tighter- creating his own belt loops to keep his pants up over his thinning hips and waist. Stiles develops new secret hollows below his cheekbones, purple and black like bruises except a lot prettier and more satisfying to poke a finger to. As winter draws closer Stiles is thankful for the excuse to wear layers of clothing; in fact his usual consisted of two layers of shirts and a hoody as well as a jacket sometimes when the days were extra cold and unbearable. 

_But it’s working._

 

* * *

 

 

 _The next time Stiles sees Derek again is when he’s down to 124 pounds and can hardly remain standing._ The world pulses along with his softening heart-beat, like the flicker of a candle on its last whims; and strangely enough this… weakening doesn’t alarm Stiles.

“You look like shit.” Is Derek’s greeting, to which Stiles finds the energy to quip in return-

“We missed you too sunshine.” 

Scott grins at that, crossing his arms. Derek’s eyes remain glued to Stiles for a few moments before returning back to Scott. Stiles had tagged along for moral support to Scott, to see Derek and because it was a way to keep away from eating dinner. Scott needed to control himself as a wolf and naturally crazy ass Derek Hale was the right choice, _right._

 “Well Scott, it’s possible to control it, but it’s not going to be easy.” 

“Just show me.” 

Stiles squinted as he tried to keep along with the blossoming conversation- one that eventually led to Scott and Derek sparring, but his head was swimming. Stiles carefully rested a palm over his forehead and noted how clammy he really did feel. _Man I must really look like shit. What the hell am I doing showing up like this? Derek’s going to think-_

_Then Stiles caught himself._

Why did he care so much about what Derek would think about him? Wise cracking freaky werewolf _needs-to-shave_ Derek? Stiles couldn’t look at the man for long without feeling like he needed to fan fresh air into his lungs for a few hours, or take a long cold bath. Damn. 

“Hey, Stiles.” Suddenly Stiles looked up to realized that both Scott and Derek had stopped their sparring and were staring at him. Scott’s eyebrows were folded as his chest rose and fell rapidly. “Your heart suddenly started to beat really fast, you okay?”

Stiles quickly looked over to Derek, whose eyes were boring holes into him. 

“Oh, yeah- I’m sorry — I was _ah—_ “ A pause to sort through a collection of lies he had prepared. “I was just thinking about how nervous I am for the test we have tomorrow.” Actually it wasn’t a complete lie, there really was a history test tomorrow, but Stiles never needed to study.

Scott’s face crumpled as the realization hit him as well. “Man. I forgot about that-“ 

Derek seemed to buy it, or at least thats how Stiles took it- the dark featured man was so difficult to read sometimes. Derek crossed his arms and turned around, kicking at the ground as he muttered a soft “Get used to missing some tests, this isn’t something that you can separate from your every-day life, it’s something that’s going to bleed in to it and it’s going to effect everyone you come across.” Derek turned back and looked at Stiles, this made him feel uncomfortable. “ But, let’s finish for the evening we should go get something to eat- it’s important to stay nourished too.”

_Fuck._

“Ah! Yes, great idea oh my God I’m _starving_.” Scott, carefree and explosively personable as always scooped up his shirt and pulled it on.

“Man, I really need to get home to study for that test though-“ Stiles says it way too fast, and now he knows his heart is beating so much faster, he curses his nerves- he curses his inability to calm himself because he knows it’s like waving a giant red flag to these werewolves. _Fuck._

“Come on Stiles we both know you’re just going to go home and play video games instead of study-“ Scott laughs and suddenly the air is a little less thick (An ability that Stiles is ever-thankful that Scott possessed) but it doesn’t ease the fact that Stiles is about to have to face food. Stiles imagined having to eat in front of Derek and immediately felt ill, he was not about to be a lard-ass in front of Derek; he didn’t want to be the little tubby crying kid again. No.  

“Come with us Stiles, theres still some stuff I need to talk to you both about anyway.”  

 _Oh God no. Fuck. What am I going to do?_  

Theres no way Stiles is going to be able to say no, Derek and Scott have looped him onto it and his heart is fluttering so fast that he can’t pull a coherent excuse out of his brain fast enough. It’s as Scott’s hand grasps his shoulder and the three of them begin to shuffle outside that Stiles realized his fear was about to unfold— 

 

* * *

 

 

Scott begs Derek and Stiles to stop at the local pizza joint, one that’s probably as old as the three of them combined. Derek just shrugs and Stiles can’t even force himself to smile now. The moment Stiles’ body passes underneath the door he feels what’s like a bolt of electricity down to the very deepest root on his spine. 

The smell of pizza is so surprising and so grounding that it makes Stiles stumble and Scott reaches out and pats him on the back- wether its to reassure him or not Stiles doesn’t know. 

Stiles feels like he’s the werewolf now, because he can smell that warm gooey cheese only a foot in the door; not only that, but he feels as though he can smell each and every ingredient, each fleck of yeast in the dough, each little darkened spot of pepperoni, secreting _disgustinggetinmyfuckingbelly_ oils and grease. It’s a terrible state of mind to be in, because no matter how much he still hates the way his body looks, and no matter how much work he still thinks he needs to do— Stiles wants nothing more than to sit down with them and dump a bottle of parmesan cheese onto three slices of pizza and shovel them all into his mouth at once, he wants to get a side order of garlic cheese bread and down it is so fast he can’t even taste it- he wants to eat so bad, oh god is he ever hungry- he is so fucking hungry— _  
_

_He hasn't eaten in two days, and that's still not good enough._

“Thinking about that test again?” Derek seems to appear out of nowhere just as Stiles nerves get the best of him, but now he’s standing to Stiles left, hands shoved into his pockets. 

“Sorry?” Having been otherwise mentally occupied, the other’s questions seemed completely ill-suited and random.

“Your heart is beating fast again. I thought it might be over that test, I guess it’s not.” Derek’s looking straight into Stiles’ eyes now and it’s so strong to Stiles that he can’t look away from the piercing blue. 

_What was he even supposed to respond with to that?_

“Hello, you guys can go ahead and follow me I’ve got a seat ready for you.” A nice blonde waitress interrupts them with a smile, Stiles deems that she’s all too jolly to seat the two handsome young men at his side. Stiles doesn’t blame her. 

Scott flashes her a smile and looks back at Stiles and Derek, giving them a thumbs up.

As though the situation isn’t figuratively suffocating enough, they are stuck with a booth seat and before Stiles even has a moment to spin away Derek puts his hand on Stiles shoulder, forcing him to go in to the booth first- where Derek then slides in next to him. trapping him in his seat. Scott slid in across from them, all smiles as he played with the corners of the menu, looking down at the pizza choices.

And suddenly everything became a slow murmur to Stiles. The voices that had once seemed lively and spirited drifted away into muted silence as though Stiles had been rocketed up and out of their galaxy.

Up up up, far off in his space-land, Stiles thinks about the pizza- he thinks about how frightened he is of pizza, and how frustrating it is to be so--- because he never used to be afraid of such a silly thing. 

In his mind he creates a mental list- something that he’d grown accustomed to doing when put under the stress that involved food and eating.

_**1\. Could he stuff the pizza into his pockets?** _

_No. That was not going to work with two werewolves around, they would smell it on him- they’d hear it- they’d fucking sense it, whatever, Stiles just knew they’d notice._

_**2\. He could fake sick?** _

Stiles strikes that one out too- werewolves ruined everything.

That only left one more option, one that he knew had always existed.

_**3\. He would have to try to throw up again.** _

_“Stiles."_

Almost like waking up from a dream, Stiles is back to the real world and now the waitress is standing in front of them with a pen and a paper. Derek and Scott are staring at him so he can only assume it’s time for him to order and _hedoesn’tfuckingwanttoorderanything._

“What can I get you to drink, sweetheart?”

“Uhm. I’ll have a water please.”  

“And we’ll take two large pepperoni pizzas, please.” Derek orders for the whole table with a smile. The waitress digs it, shooting him one back beforeorganizing the menus into a little pile and turning around the corner. 

Scott throws a folded up five dollar bill and a one in the middle of the table to which Derekthen adds seven dollars to the mix. They must have decided upon splitting the pizzas collectively whilst Stiles was off in his own little world. 

It’s too late now, Stiles has already gotten onto this roller-coaster- one thing was for sure, he was not going to be able to get off now.

Stiles threw two fives onto the middle of the table. 

 

* * *

 

 

Three pieces of pizza later and Stiles’ hand’s are already shaking as he sinks to his knees in front of the off-white porcelain throan of the public-pizza house bathroom stall. An ugly color pallet -that Stiles swears to high-heaven is used in every single pizza joint in all of America- mocks him in the form of purples and reds and yellows, the color of the stretchmarks he knows will slither onto his flesh if he doesn't get rid of it. The concept of _anyone_ being able to walk in to that bathroom and hearing Stiles wretch was desensitized by the three slices of pizza currently weighing like cement in his belly. God he was so weak. 

Stiles closed his eyes and swallowed, pressed his index and middle finger together at the opening of his lips.

God, he's terrified he won't be able to do it like last time. 

_He counts to ten._

On ten, Stiles gathers the courage he needs, shoving the finger down his throat produced a gag immediately, but only bile and spit was produced. 

_No No Nonono fuck no. You have to get rid of it all Stiles, you have to get rid of it- there is no other option. Get. Rid. Of. It._

Another gag, but this time Stiles keeps his finger in place,he’s choking- he can’t breathe and he gags again. Stiles straightens his back and then gags a third time- 

_Finally. Finally. Oh my god, finally._

The vomit burns his throat on the way out, and Stiles reasons that he’s never felt more collectively disgusting but also relieved in his entire life. With each time he vomits he cries out softly into the bowl of the toilet, silent cries of triumph and of pain.

Stiles’ nose burned and his eyes stung with tears as he gagged and wretched and vomited what seemed to be dozens of times. Stiles remained hunched over the toilet while he gagged until finally nothing came out, and then he gagged five more times on top of that. He had to be sure. He had to be sure. He had to be absolutely sure. 

Only when Stiles was absolutely POSITIVE that every trace of pizza has been purged of his system, a shaky hand reached out to flush the toilet. 

_God it felt so good._

Stiles had escaped the pizza, he’d eaten it to satisfy Derek and Scott, and he’d successfully gotten rid of it. He was in control, he was on top of the fucking world- he was powerful- he was going to be thin.  

Stiles pushed out of the stall, and is almost a little surprised at his luck- nobody had even set foot in the bathroom that entire time; or at least nobody had stuck around to see the identity of the guy puking his guts out. The sickly young man walked over to the sink and turned the faucet on, hygiene being the least of his worries as he opened his mouth and swished water into his mouth a few times. 

There is a nagging sensation tugging at the logical side of his brain to walk back into the dining area- he’s already taken far too long in that bathroom and if he doesn’t want to look suspicious he needs to return immediately to Derek and Scott. 

Stiles admitted that he looked like shit, his eyes were bloodshot and his skin was pale and he was 50% sure that he had barf breath, but a stick of gum produced from his pocket did the trick to solve that part of the problem. 

For a moment Stiles felt like he was experiencing one of the most euphoric highs he’d ever had, his body felt light and his head felt a good sort of fuzzy, like the kind of fuzzy he got when he hadn't taken his stimulants in a while and then re-taken them with a few cups of coffee. 

Stiles pushed his way back out of the restroom, and despite how illogical it was- he felt like everyone was staring at him, like everyone knew what he’d just done. 

Scott and Derek are chatting up the waitress back at the table, and it’s the perfect way for Stiles to de-awkwardify the situation because the attention isn’t fully on him when he comes back and quickly get Derek to move so he can slide back in to the booth. Though, when Derek moves he doesn’t quite look Stiles in the eye and somehow that makes Stiles stomach crawl. 

“Well, I have to let you guys go, but it was so nice to chat- come back again okay guys?” The girl is nice, and ducks away after the trio utters a small ‘thanks!’ 

“I am so full I think I might burst.” Scott smiled a big toothy one as he leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach.

“Yeah, Scott tell me- when is your food baby due?” 

Scott laughs and flicks the vial of salt over in front of Stiles, spilling salt towards his friend. “Now you get bad luck.” Scott quipped as he pulled himself out of the booth.

“You know Scott, you are still the one who knocked the salt over so technically it’s you that’s gonna have bad luck.” Stiles set his palms on the table and prepared to slide out of the booth as well, but Derek remained as still as a pillar. A dark brooding handsome pillar that wasn’t about to move a muscle. 

“Derek?” Stiles asked, perplexed.

Derek turned and looked at Stiles, his lips were drawn into a straight line and his brow was slightly folded. There was an air about him, a soft anger that boiled up behind his eyeballs and it was so slight that Stiles wondered if he had imagined it.

“Alright, let’s go.” Derek finally said, still looking into Stiles eyes as he slid out of the booth.  

Stiles stood up quickly, eager to leave that horrible place, and regretted the action immediately. 

The high from earlier must have worn off, because he was suddenly stricken with what felt like a fevered-cold sweat and his stomach ached like he’d just been kicked by a horse. Derek and Scott were looking forwards, but when the sick feeling caught Stiles off guard he sunk back down into a seated position and pressed his palm back to the table, lowering his head as a soft less-than masculine whimper squeezed it’s way out of his mouth.

“Shit, what the hell?" Scott is the first one to react. " Are you okay Stiles?” Scott is at Stiles side in an instant, but Stiles waves him away. 

“Oh God, yeah I’m alright jeeze I just had some really bad heartburn.” 

Scott remained unconvinced until Stiles straightened himself back up and flashed a thumbs up; the smile was enough for Scott and it made him pat Stiles on the back, he remained at his side as they made their way out the front door.

Stiles was too scared to look at Derek. 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles had run miles upon miles before, he’d spent evenings doing aerobics and not even batted an eyelash when he’d finished and looked outside to find the sun had risen, deeming him to have been exercising all night. Stiles worked hard.  

So it came as a shock to him when walking a few feet out of the restaurant became one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. 

The lack of eating for a few days on end hadn’t held him down until now, and he was certain it was because he’d probably just purged himself of whatever electrolytes that were keeping him standing up-right.  

Each step brought a new darkened splotch to his vision, and he was afraid that all of his hard work that evening would lead to his exposure, he was afraid that he was going to faint and embarrass himself in front of Derek that evening, adding mortification to the dread that he already felt for what had unfolded that day.

The trio had begun walking all together when Scott started to talk to Derek about Peter, asking in depth questions that required in depth answers--- ones that lead the two to carry on forwards at a solid speed, while Stiles struggled to keep up. Sometime after the distance between Stiles and the rest of them had grown a little bigger, Scott looked behind and noticed Stiles’ lag behind.

“You coming Mr. Slowpoke?” Scott called back. Derek looked as well, eyes flashing with something Stiles couldn’t read from that far away.

“You damn guys walk too fast- but go on ahead anyway, this is where my turn is.” Stiles pointed to his left, he’d happened upon one of the streets that would take him to the next street which was where he would get to his house.

“Oh, right!” Scott stopped in his tracks, turning around completely so he could wave goodbye. “See ya tomorrow at school Stiles!” 

Now Stiles’ vision is swimming and the darkness is closing in faster and he can’t even see much of the two in front of him anymore.

“You going to make it okay on your own?” Derek’s voice cuts into the night and the chivalry makes Stiles cheeks burn.

“Y-yeah!” Stiles calls quickly, the urgency to get away from them elevated with Derek’s presence. That whole evening had been a disaster to Stiles and if he was going to continue to lag behind like a lard ass and embarrass himself, then it was going to make him hate himself forever. “Jeeze, cheer up big guy!” Stiles commented on the ever hardened tone of Derek Hale’s voice. 

Stiles waved at them for a few moments and then watched them nod and turn around to start walking again before he dropped the facade he'd been presenting and he hunched over in pain. Stiles inhaled a sharp breath as he pressed a hand to his stomach and moaned softly. Stiles felt like shit. Stiles felt like he was going to die.

“Come on Stiles.” He urged himself, turning to begin walking along along the street.

Stiles must have only walked for a full minute before the swimming in his brain magnified and the light-ness he’d once inside of his brain turned into pasty mush that created a magnetic pull between his body and the ground, his head feel like it weighed more than a ton. 

Then like a flash, the illness he felt magnified 100% and Stiles stopped in his tracks, thinking of pizza and pepperoni and cold bathroom tiled floors as his body went limp. Stiles felt himself faint side-ways, collapsing and rolling down a hill that then dumped him into a slight forested ditch along the side of the road, he was unconscious before he even stopped rolling- mud and dirt and earth enveloped his entire abdomen, dirtying his cheeks and his hair.

Stiles had most definitely fainted into a ditch along the side of the road in the middle of the night, and Stiles had most definitely broken his arm.

_But at least he'd be skinny._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Hang In There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for how long this has taken! I intended to update more regularly but a couple things have really taken my time and it's very hard to sit down and find a muse when you're stressed about other things!
> 
> Since this story has gotten a bit of attention I want to say again that if you or anyone you know suffers from an Eating Disorder please seek out help, my inbox is always open- I've dealt with Eating Disorders for a long time and if anything I can offer a listening ear. 
> 
> Enjoy~

“What’s up with him?” It’s Derek who speaks first, eyes still pointed forwards, uncannily and certainly uncharacteristically interested in pressing the Stillinski habit.

It momentarily catches Scott off guard, unable to comprehend or to string together who exactly the ‘him’ _was_ until the obvious made Scott’s ears ring. “Wait, what do you mean— what’s up with _Stiles?”_ The very concept of Derek taking interest in anything short of the Hales or werewolf _—ism_ — was shocking to Scott. Derek didn't make any sense, and Scott wondered if there would ever come a day when he _would_ make sense. 

For a moment there isn’t a sound to be heard in the air except for the scrape of their heels against the pavement as they continued on their way through the dark, Scott had been occupied with a strange thought that whole evening, he'd tried not to take much notice into the weird sense of pride he felt in the fact that once upon a time he would have been made to feel uncomfortable over what might have lurked for him in the dark— now he was what lurked.

“Stiles has always been _weird_ , Derek.” Scott sent a half laugh half snort puff of air through his nose. "Stiles, remember? 60mgs of Adderall just to be able to sit still in class Stiles. Stiles 'Hey Scott, do you think ants poop?" Stiles."

“No.” Derek wasn't in the slightest bit impressed with how light the conversation had grown. Derek pressed the nerve quickly, proving that he was growing frustrated. “I mean the way he acted _tonight_ —“ Derek stoppedjust as he urged emphasis onto the word ‘tonight’ and turned to face Scott, looking into his eyes now, it would seem that this conversation was not one that they were going to be able to have with any sense of clarity without eye contact.

“I don’t-?”

“His heart-rate spikes themoment I mention food, when we order pizza for him he _oh so willingly_ swallows it down, only to excuse himself to the restroom and come back with hands shaking not thinking we’ll notice.” Scott looks confused so Derek shakes his head and corrects himself. “Thinking I won’t notice…” 

“He said he was nervous about his test.” Scott whispers in response to--- whatever it was that he was insinuating, and at once he turned away from Derek- beginning to walk again. 

And then it clicked to Derek.

Suddenly Scott’s behavior and his ignorance made sense. It all clicked and Derek understood. Scott _did_ notice. Scott had noticed long before anyone else— but he didn’t _want_ to notice, he didn’t want to accept the fact that there was something up with his best friend, and even if Derek thought it was a bit too feeling of Scott, he understood where he was coming from- if even for a bit.

“Scott.” Derek murmured under his breath after a few awkward moments too long , and when Scott didn’t stop he reached out and gabbed his pack-mate’s shoulder with an authority that seemed to shake the earth below. The sound of squawking birds fleeing from the trees shuttered through the air as the gesture truly did make Scott stop in his tracks. Scott won’t look up at Derek, but he doesn’t have to to know what look is spread across his pack-mate’s face. “Scott, tell me what’s up with Stiles.” Scott still doesn’t answer, so Derek decides to approach it from a different angle. “You telling me isn’t betrayal— if something is truly is wrong with him.”

It takes a good three minutes before Scott clears his throat and nods, relaxing his shoulders under Derek’s grip. “He’s losing a lot of weight.” 

Derek is silent.

“I mean a lot of weight, like you should have seen him before— _everything_. Like before High-school, he was actually pretty chubby.” Scott’s smiling fondly, remembering the good old days. 

“Stiles was chubby?” Derek isn’t smiling, but he’s surprised— he hadn’t even thought to consider Stiles being anything but the skinny little thing he’d grown to know.

“Yeah.” Scott’s face drops. “God, please don’t tell him I told you- he pretends like it doesn’t bother him, but he hates talking about it- he’s really sensitive about it. Stiles used to be bullied about it, a lot actually… And one year it got so bad that he just snapped— started exercising, he does these work-out tapes religiously. Totally stopped eating lunch. It drives me crazy, because I don’t think his dad even suspects that he might be— I don’t-”

Derek’s face dropped.

“I hate it, because I don't know how to _not_ notice” Scott’s still speaking, but Derek is worlds away. "I mean, I'm his best friend, Derek. I'm supposed to be able to help him through... Whatever is going on and I just-"

 

Derek remembers a sad little boy all those years ago. 

 

“Scott.” Derek murmured suddenly  “Go home. I have to go somewhere.”

Before Scott could ask, Derek broke out into a sprint, back the way they had come from.

 

—————————————————————————————————————

 

Stiles found himself nestled in the middle of a couch arms folded over his lap in an ‘x’ shape with palms pressed over top of his knees. Stiles can’t remember how he got there,he can’t decide where he is, but for whatever reason that doesn’t bother him-

In front of him is a bowl of butterscotch candies, each wrapped perfectly set in visually pleasing symmetry. 

 _No._ Stiles scolded himself before a thought of reaching for one even presented itself.

“No.” Stiles whispers out loud this time for effect- and the first words he’s spoken in what feels like years makes his throat sting, his breath catches his attention with a sniff his nose, it smells earthy. _Strange._

Alarm surged through Stiles’ body as he reached out robotically to grasp a piece of candy, his heart is thudding in his chest so hard that he can hardly breath. 

“No.” He says to himself, but his body won’t listen to him as he balanced his elbow’s on his lap and began untwisting the morsel of candy. “No. No. NO, Stiles.” The ground has started to tremble beneath his feet and the couch slowly began to engulph him, has though being devoured, his body began a decent, lowering slowly into the couch cushion as though it were made of quick-sand. 

And still his hand creeped closer to his mouth, sporting the god-awful deadly piece of candy. The smell of earth is suffocating now as the candy is inches closer to his face. Just as the piece of butterscotch touches his lips, Stiles saw darkness as he fell through the couch-

* * *

 

Stiles gasped awake, couching immediately as he tried to sit up- he couldn’t.

Rain sprinkled down into his face, chilling his body as he slowly came to. Where was he?

The smell of earth was still overwhelming, and he soon realized this was because he was submersed in what felt like a disgusting mixture of mud and sticks and greenery.

Rendering his scent completely invisible. Stiles realized. 

 

It was hard to gather the energyto care, in a sense Stiles knew that he was in trouble—but he felt muggy- he felt the kind of sleepy that you got when he closed your eyes while on a long bus-ride. The kind of feeling you had when you weren’t completely asleep- but not entirely awake either… A bus coma as he called it.

Something was entirely wrong, he couldn’t move- each time Stiles tried to move a limb it send a wall of sharp painful trembles to his brain, his left arm was pulsing unnaturally to his heart beat.

The cold was sharp and unbearable, his fingers had begun to ache as the temperature brought an unpleasant cough out of his lungs. God it hurt.

 _“Help.”_ Stiles’ cry for help was weakened by his conditions and the sound of the rain swallowed it away.

Stiles coughed again before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

Derek had made it to Stiles’ house in record time. The wolf had decided not to alarm Stiles’ dad by pounding on the front door and demanding the man let him speak with Stiles… Especially seeing as Derek was _Derek-_

-Wanted. A Hale. Yeah.

Derek climbed his way to where he assumed Stiles’ room to be. 

Stiles was not there.

Derek tucked his lips in and looked up to the moon— _Stiles might still be walking home. It hasn’t been that much time._

Derek decided he would wait for Stiles to come home. Ten minutes passed by and no Stillinski. Okay. The boy walked slow, Derek had to remember that not everyone was a wolf. Twenty minutes. Now Derek felt anxious, why wasn’t Stiles home? It was late— Stiles was alone and unprotected. 

Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes, and Derek was gone.

 _Where the fuck is he?_ Derek scolded himself for waiting for Stiles for so long, clearly something was wrong and he’d wasted way too much time. Derek ran down the side-walk, eyes lighting up as the night around him became illuminated; he was far enough away from the Stallinski house to begin searching for the boy’s scent.

“Shit.” Derek growled. The rain was wetting the earth, mixing all of the scents together- he was really going to have to focus. 

“Stiles?!” Derek shouted, walking down the sidewalk- the sidewalk Stiles should have taken on his way home. Derek ran and ran and still saw nothing, his mind was reeling his body was reacting violently to the anxiety of the unknown. Where the fuck was he?, It wasn’t until he rounded a corner that he froze in his tracks.

 _Stiles._ As plain as day, Derek caught the familiar distinct scent. 

Derek turned back around and smelled the air, walking now as he glanced around. “Stiles!” He called out.

Nothing.

Suddenly the scent was gone, so Derek stopped and took a step backwards. _There it was._

Derek’s heart sank as he looked to the road, there was only one thing that could have happened— Stiles was walking and had been picked up by a vehicle… Taken abruptly. It was the only thing that-

The forest area to his left caught Derek’s attention, interrupting his rather dark thoughts. Derek leaned down and peaked over top, noticing the way the hill that the sidewalk occupied curved downwards into a ditch. 

It took Derek a total of three seconds to see Stiles.

“Stiles!” His voice was strange, it didn’t sound like his own voice- the adrenaline was morphing his senses, it made his teeth clench and his jaw ache.

The earth was so muddy that Derek was able to slide down the hill, he didn’t have time to cringe at the way the mud filled up his boots. 

_“Oh my god.”_

Stiles was submersed in mud, his clothes were ruined and what was visible of his skin was pale and alarmingly blue. Fearing pneumonia or something far worse Derek leaned down on his hands and knees, his lacking medical knowledge was only enough to tell him that he shouldn’t move Stiles unless he was certain that nothing serious was broken.

“Stiles.” Derek shouted, large hand cupping the boy’s cheek.

Stiles took a deep breath and something short of a groan found its way out. 

“Stiles look at me.” Derek works his hands over Stiles’ face, whipeing as much mud away as he could. “Stiles.” He patted Stiles’ face now.

Two tired red eyes opened slowly and incoherently to look up at Derek. Stiles was terrifyingly slow to react, and his silence along with raspy breathing made Derek tense. 

“I’m going to move you, is anything broken?” Derek made sure to lean down to Stiles as closely as possible, warm breath making Stiles’ eyes blink. 

Stiles opened his mouth and spoke, but it was an incoherent little moan. 

“What?” Derek asked. “Come on Stiles, I need you to try as hard as you can. Is anything broken?”

“Arm.” Stiles forced out. “I th-think my arm is _buh_ -broken.”

Derek nodded, it was all he needed. Carefully he wrapped his arms underneath Stiles, muscles tightening. God, this was weird- this was so strange- how could a grown human being be scooped up so easily, how in the _hell_ had nobody known anything was this widely wrong with Stiles.

Stiles hung ragged like a limp sock, as Derek lifted his frail form from the ground some of the mud clomps dripped free of his body- raining down to Derek’s feet. When Stiles was more human than he was mud, he moaned softly- the pain in his arm had begun to make him shiver; or perhaps it was the cold. 

Derek trudged along quickly, but Stiles didn’t seem to be able to endure- he squirmed around a bit in Derek’s grasp until he finally set his good arm on Derek’s shoulder and rasped a barely audible. “Stop. Stop, I can’t keep going like this.” 

Derek was frantic, but he tried not to let it show as he slowly absorbed what Stiles had said to him. 

“Here, let’s get you more comfortable.” Derek’s voice was alarmingly less breathless and intense as he actually felt he was. Using the small amount of grace and gentleness he possessed in his entire body; the Hale slowly moved Stiles to a sitting position on top of the platform he’d formed of arms. 

Stiles was breathing quickly as he now found himself sitting up-right, he was able to rest his shoulder to Derek’s- but he didn’t feel secure enough so he shuffled himself around one last time to drape his good arm around Derek’s shoulder/ neck area. Stiles drew forward to the warmth of the creature surrounding him- the fact that Derek was here didn’t seem concrete, it felt like dream logic In the sense that whatever he chose to do would not actual become reality. It was a sensation that Stiles hated, but one that he could not change and this scared him.

As they trudged along, Stiles felt significantly more comfortable in this position as opposed to the previous, this comfortability set him directly in way of the nagging fatigue that had taken over earlier. Stiles tried his hardest to stay awake and alert so he could maintain what little control over the situation that he had, but as Derek’s gentle stride continued on- the lull caused his face to fall forwards and balance on the small nook that his arm had formed between himself and the warm side of Derek’s neck; he didn’t feel the severity of the awkwardness that the current vulnerable situation had brought. Stiles may have been subconsciously thankful for this, because Derek’s neck felt so good on his forehead- the smell—

“Stay with me, buddy.” Derek sounded unaffected by Stiles’ closeness and Stiles didn’t know if he liked that or not. 

“Since when do you call me buddy..?” He rasped, still trying to break the field of strange underlying emotion with his own brand of humor. 

“Since when do you fall into ditches and break your arm?” Derek shot right back and it almost made Stiles— _happy_

In the place of a laugh Stiles coughed, and the way it racked his body made him groan in pain once more for the third time that evening. The soft strained little sound fell against Derek’s worried shoulders as he tightened his arms around Stiles ever so slightly and uttered a soft-

_“Hang in there.”_

…

“Stiles.” Derek perked up the boy’s name softly- barely above the sound of the rain.

“Mm..?” Barely an answer from the injured boy in his arms.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was you?” Derek didn’t allude to what ‘it’ meant or even to the event back in the store where Derek bought Stiles those tapes, but somehow deep inside Derek knew the boy would understand him.

Silence from Stiles’ part, and he didn’t know if it was because he’d passed out again or if it was because he didn’t want to answer.

* * *

 

 

Anorexia. 

 

Imagine going to the dollar store and buying a nice new pair of scissors, imagine setting those scissors by your bed-side every night, just next to your alarm clock so that it’s they are the last thing you see every night before you go to bed and the first thing you see every morning when you wake up. Imagine one day you wake up and it is so difficult to breath that you can’t even sit up right, and you know that the only solution is to take the scissors and snip off a part of your thigh- a small part- but it hurts and there is a lot of blood and you bleed all over your clothes. 

 

You feel better.

 

Soon, however- every night you need to snip a part of your thigh off in order for you to sleep peacefully. And you do the same every morning. Soon small parts of yourself aren’t enough anymore and you have to snip off more, and theres blood all over all of your clothes and you can hide the blood with baggy clothes and thick hoodies, but it doesn’t quite feel right. 

 

Eventually you can’t even last more than five minutes without snipping off pieces of yourself and even though there isn’t anything left you can’t stop because you can’t fucking breath and you can’t breathe because you need the scissors and you’re tired of all the blood, but you just want to breath god I can’t fuckingbreath and you know that one day you’re going to snip off something that you can’t do without but it doesn’t matter because at least you can breath.

 

That’s anorexia. 

 

Stiles woke to the sound of running water. 

The beautiful puffs of steam rising from what he prayed was piping hot water aroused his skin to the point of goosebumps before he’d even touchéd any bath-water. Stiles observed that his muddy body had been placed on a pile of newspapers, and he was laying on the concrete floor of what he presumed was Derek’s super-top-secret-Hale-Hideway-Funhouse-Adenture-Land.  

Stiles sneezed.

“Good,you’re up. I was worried.” Comes Derek’s voice from within the bathroom. Stiles craned his neck sideways to see the man looking through drawers for various things- in his arms was a first-aid kit and a few towels.“Take a bath, try to warm up- I’ve got some old clothes you can wear.” Derek shut the drawer he was working on and peaked around the corner. “Against my better judgement I’m not going to take you to the hospital- 

Stiles almost screamed with joy. 

“- I am taking you to see Deaton, he can probably set your arm for you…” Derek trailed off as though he wanted to say something else. Stiles bit his lip, hating the current elephant in the room, so he decided to speak up.

“What time is it?” 

“It’s about 2 A.M” Derek admitted.

Stiles exhaled a sigh of relief. Chances were his father was fast asleep, he had a few hours to get home before his dad would get scared and ask questions. “I— I just have to get home before school.”

“You’re not seriously thinking of going tomorrow, are you…?” Derek was angry and it sounded a bit out of place- he couldn’t help it. “Stiles. I found you passed out in a _ditch_ up to your face in mud.” He exited the bathroom and walked over to where Stiles was currently propped. “Do you need any help?”

“Oh, I see- oldest trick in the book- offering to help the damsel in distress with working the _shower_ ” Stiles’ dry crack at humor hadn’t gone misunderstood, but Derek only replied with a disgusted curl of his lip. “Just hurry, you’re going to get pneumonia.” Derek offered Stiles a hand and Stiles took it, standing shakily to his feet like a baby calf. “I’m going to make you some soup.” Derek murmured, not looking into Stiles eyes as he walked away once he’d helped the boy up.

“We just had pizza-“ Stiles had begun, but Derek shot him a look that was so full of intensity— so full of anger and pure _don’t you dare start._ That Stiles stopped with the objection and tucked his lips inwards, nodding his head a single time.

 

_Shit._

 

 


	5. Light. He is so Light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~People like to tell you what you're gonna be  
> It's not my problem if you don't see what I see~

 

It had taken a stale “ _No,_ Deaton will not weigh you or try to make you eat.” From Derek’s part precisley five times before Stiles had mustered enough courage and stamina to venture in to the room where Derek had promised him dry clothing (after a grueling bath and unwelcome soup poured down his throat ). Derek wasn’t much of a cook, and if Stiles wasn’t too taken with the desperation of the moment he would have worried over all the excess calories Derek was sure to have implanted in the devilish charms of the warm broth-based soup. 

Stiles was still an expert at hiding it, but it was growing harder and harder for him to continue walking around, to continue remaining conscious- the pain was beginning to remove the numbness that shock had pitied him with, he knew he was going to have to get his arm looked at and in the long run it was much better having Deaton deal with it than the hospital. 

 

After directing him to the change of clothes waiting for Stiles, Derek waited outside of the room for a grand total of five minutes before he began to call for the attention of the younger.

“Stiles, hurry up in there- I wanna go to bed just as much as you do.” 

_Silence._

 

The silence grated him, Derek didn’t like the way the silence rang out- it reminded him of the pale crumpled body of Stiles curled up in the ditch along the side of the road. Derek flinched each time the intrusive thought stormed through his senses bringing a migraine that was not to be reckoned with. Minutes were precious- this was something he’d learned from the ordeal, andhe certainly did not like wasting minutes. “Stiles, I’m coming in.” He murmured from behind the door, as though giving the other a final chance to redeem himself with an answer. When nothing came back- Derek reasoned that not being awarded an answer was enough permission he needed to push his way in to the room.

 

Derek was relieved to see that Stiles wasn’t hurt or— unconscious again, _well in a sense_. Stiles had made it far enough to slip one of Derek’s old sweater’s on, but he’d fallen asleep with the left sleeve slack at his side, 

Derek felt sorry for Stiles, it had truly been a long night and it was about to get longer. Derek found his way over to stand in front of the tiny sleeping form, he reached down and couldn’t suppress the chuckle that came when he was able to lift Stiles arm and slide it through the sweater sleeve without the boy waking. 

 

The smile was short-lived however when Derek really _looked_ at the form of life before him. 

Stiles’ lips were spread and tinged a slight violet color, this told Derek that his body still hadn’t gotten to warming itself properly- and it wasn’t a wonder why, the young man clearly lacked any and all bodily insulation. Stiles eyes were closed, but Derek could tell how hollow they sat inside of his skull, folds of black and blue skin lay underneath his eyes, swollen with the promise of a thousand sleepless nights. _‘Stiles, what have you done to yourself.?’_ He thought to himself.He turned the boy’s wrists upwards to trace a calloused finger along risen blue veins visible like a macabre road map in his pale arm, he had half a heart to check the boy for any other injuries— wether from another outwards force or from Stiles’s self.

 

“Alright squirt.” Derek said as he carefully scooped the sleeping boy back up into his arms.

 

_Light. Light. He is so light._

 

“Oh, god.” Stiles moaned softly, he’d stirred only for a moment to situate himself. Derek chose to pardon the alien closeness, curling his mouth inward as Stiles pressed a cold forehead to the crook of Derek’s neck, burying his eyes, his nose and his lips into Derek’s shoulder. Stiles bad arm rested on top of the small shelf his form now created while his good arm found itself wrapped around Derek’s for support. “I think I’m going to die.” Stiles whispered again.

 

“You’re not.” Derek might have chuckled if he weren’t so tired.

 

Throughout the journey to the vehicle, Stiles released a chorus of almost inaudible groans, gurgling upwards from Stile’s throat with each bump that made Stiles’ body move. 

 

“Just hang in there buddy.” Derek whispered in response, perhaps the most tender he’d been in an age and a half. 

 

_Hang in there._

 

* * *

 

**_“Stiles.” Scott groaned, looking at the small personal sized trampoline that once stood upright- it now leaned inwards at a pathetic sort of slack having been broken with just three jumps on Stiles part, the dinky little thing was probably older than the both of them combined._ **

 

**_“Sorry Scott! Oh god I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d break it.” Stiles forehead felt hot._ **

**_There was a flurry of hot emotion scrawled across Scott’s features as he kicked the now broken trampoline with his foot. After an obviously frustrated groan, Scott spoke back up with a “It’s alright.” He murmured. “You didn’t mean to do it.”_ **

 

* * *

 

Stiles woke up in a chair in Deaton’s clinic, he looked down to his hurt arm and felt hot. 

The sudden jolt of consciousness immediately brought a gagging sound out of his throat and he placed a hand over his mouth, eyes wide with alarm as he leaned sideways and vomited into the trash-can that was thankfully a breath to his left. The sight had shocked him, it was swollen and tinged black and blue and a disgusting sheen of sweat settled over his injured limb making Stiles feel nauseated. 

 

The sound prompted Derek to come into the room and he wore a look of— was that _rage_ sprawled across his features?

Stiles felt so groggy and sick that he hadn’t immediately realized why Derek looked so angry.

 

 _It was because he thought Stiles had purged himself of the soup Derek had made him eat earlier._ Stiles opened his mouth as if to shout out “No! It isn’t like that!” But his body hurt too terribly to even begin to talk

_Besides, he actually was happy to have been ridden of the calories. He was glad he’d thrown up. He was glad. And this is what scared him the most._

 

Derek looked into Stiles eyes, rage so thick and so strong- as though Stiles had betrayed him in the most primal sense. “I am very tempted to leave right now, just leave you here to find your own way home.” Derek’s teeth were barred. “A year ago I would have.” He is in front of Stiles now. “A year ago I would have punched you.” His eyes looked Stiles up and down, judgement so thick that it made Stiles feel like he wanted to throw up again. “But look at you, you’re so small- your body is broken, you probably wouldn’t even survive a punch- you’ve become so—“ Derek trailed off, eyes breaking away from Stiles as he turned his back and left the room.

 

Stiles tucked his lipsinwards to hide a smile. 

_Skinny? Was he going to say skinny?_

He looked down to his legs, immediately curling his nose.

~~No. Never skinny.~~ _Not yet._

 

Deaton came back in Derek’s place eyes somber and just as out of place as Derek’s had been. Stiles hated it, he hated the way they were acting- he hated it,and Stiles had grown too exhausted to hold back his tears any longer. 

 

“Stiles, I understand that you’ve had a long night.” Deaton’s voice is a comforting whisper and it is so kind that it makes him place his good palm over his face hiding his tears for the moment to preserve what little dignity he had left. 

 

“Th-“ Stiles’ voice was far too hoarse so he cleared his throat and started again. “Thanks for coming so late- well I guess now it’s so early.” Stiles whispered, Deaton simply nodded and smiled, wheeling a chair up to sit in front of Stiles.

“I’m going to touch your arm now, I need you to tell me what hurts and what doesn’t.”

“It hurts.” Stiles cracked before Deaton even touched him, and Deaton laughed, shaking is head.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Stiles’ arm had been set into a cast and Derek had taken him home it was 5:30 A.M, he was going to have to ‘wake up’ for school in a little over an hour. 

Deaton had reasoned that Stiles arm was sprained- and though Stiles was initially thankful for this, it had been made known to him that many sprains can be worse than broken bones. Stiles was not going to enjoy explaining it to his father, he’d have to think of a proper lie.

“Derek.” Stiles piped up softly, not moving to leave the car just yet. 

Derek said nothing.

“Thank you.” He turned to try to catch Derek’s gaze, hating the awkwardness.

Derek stared into the darkened sky ahead of them, eyes tired- he hadn’t slept, and Stiles was willing to bet Derek hadn’t had any good night’s of sleep previous to this one as well. 

“My dad already left for work- you should come in and sleep—.” Stiles said.“You can be mad at me tomorrow.” Another pause “I’ll skip school if you do.” He didn’t particularly think that it was leverage he could use, but earlier Derek had been so adamant about him skipping school to recover. 

Derek turned slowly and finally awarded Stiles with a reluctant cloudy gaze; the eye-contact that he’d yearned for so terribly. There were a few breaths of pauses before he finally spoke up. “I’m so tired.” Derek admitted with a vulnerability that surprised Stiles. 

“Same.” Stiles smiled a weak sort of smile, it was almost genuine. 

 _“Stiles.”_ Derek halted the boy. “ I don’t mind what I did tonight, I really don’t. You are my friend and I’d stay up to help you any time.” 

Stiles nodded.

“-But I need you to talk to me. It doesn’t have to be now, but I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

Stiles felt his stomach flip, this entire night had been hellish and vile to his senses, it had been chalk full of stress and awkward conversation that had no place in his life-he reasoned- but wanting nothing more than to drop all conversation and collapse into his pillow. “Alright.” He agreed, reasoning that he could avoid Derek and his questions in the future. “Come on.” He slid out of the car and breathed relief when he heard Derek’s door slam behind him.

“And you are going to eat something tomorrow without throwing it up.”

 

* * *

 

Derek followed behind the other carefully, his own reasoning for wanting to spend the night was to make sure that Stiles— _survived._

They both came to a stop when Stiles paused in front of the stairs. The smaller shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, head lowering as if defeated by the prospect of climbing the stares. Without looking directly at Derek, Stiles seemed to ask for permission to touch Derek as he lifted his good arm up to touch the top of Derek’s arm. 

 

Derek complied, taking Stiles’ arm in his - he allowed Stiles to lean on him as they shuffled up to the top of the stairs. 

 

They made it to Stiles’ room, breathing heavily. Stiles collapsed onto his bed, knees pulled to his chest and face planted down into the mattress, soft snoring already rising from his lungs- promising immediate decent into REM sleep. Derek didn’t made the raspy breathing, he liked knowing that Stiles was alive.

 

Derek pushed the boy onto his back, draping a blanket he found on the ground over the sleeping boy’s body, he wanted to keep the boy warm- and he wanted to make sure everything he’d done for Stiles tonight wasn’t in vein. 

Derek knew he would regret his decision in the morning- or rather _when he woke up_ but he decided to scoot into the bed as well, he remained seated as to preserve something less than intimacy that sleeping back to back would have brought. Derek felt that remaining half seated with back pressed to the headboard and arms crossed over his abdomen was a little more dignifying- even if it was less comfortable. He remained awake for a grand total of eight minutes, lulling to sleep to the sound of Stiles’ ragged breathing. Derek woke hallways only a single time to feel Stiles sleeping form roll over onto his side, Stiles in the innocence of sleep placed his cheek to the softness just above Deerek’s waist, draping his small body over Derek like a small boney blanket. 

Derek was too tired to move the sleeping Stiles.

Too comfortable.

 

Too lulled into the rhythm of his heartbeat against his arm. 

 

 

 


End file.
